Backseat Driving
by ItsaRandomUsername
Summary: In an unseen Heaven's Feel scene, when Shirou's mind is in danger of being annihilated by Archer's arm, it's up to Illya to lend a helping hand no matter where crisis strikes.


Disclaimer:

 **All participants engaging in the various acts of coitus depicted here are adults of responsible, legally consenting age.** _Fate/stay night and its related concepts and ideas are the intellectual properties of Kinoko Nasu, Type-MOON, Notes Ltd. and other respective rights holders. This story is written solely for the purpose of entertainment, and not for any sort of monetary profit. If anything, consider this free advertising._

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 _ **Backseat Driving**_

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"T—e — to -uyu— C-ty. St— f-c—ed — t— ro—."

 _Damascus steel._

 _Origin: Indian subcontinent. Intricate patterns via ferrite and cementite alloys present in the structure of the metal, like river valleys, landscapes seen from above and afar – a view of a sword's world._

"—i—u?"

 _Like blood vessels and nerves. Not just a sword with body, but a sword with a body. Bodies have blood. Iron in is blood. Hemoglobin is a protein. Every bloodcell is a sword, a sword that rakes the body from the inside with every heartbeat. The blood clots and forms ingots._

"S–—!"

 _The land is rich with this ore. Veins of it stretch freely beneath the surface. Unnatural forces of erosion – harsh winds – have already begun to wear away at its cover, to expose it to the naked eye._

"–hir—!"

 _The bounty of the earth's body; resources meant to be taken from the world and harvested. Meant to be put to use as humanity sees it fit._

 _At this rate the countryside will become a wasteland._

"Stay with me, Shirou!"

It was the sting of pain, a jolt of energy like a static shock, and the feel of human contact that anchored him back to reality. He regained a dim awareness of his sense of self. He had the start of a migraine. His vision was hazy. His body itched. The interior of the SUV they had commandeered felt like a sauna and smelled like day-old takeout. With groggy movements he made to roll down a window but stopped when he remembered that it was the middle of winter.

Another reason he did not roll down the window was that he could not move in his current position, because his companion was seated on his lap, her hands placed on either side of his head, her concerned expression the only thing he could see. For his own sake it was the only thing he was allowed to see.

"Illya," Shirou said with a tone of dawning realization, "Why…?"

"We thought the worst was over, but your condition is still terribly unstable," she said as she leaned back. Her dainty hands did not leave Shirou. She did not get off of him. She just shifted her weight on his hips. "Gather the pieces of your mind and focus on me, Shirou. Focus on me. Focus on my voice. If you don't, you'll go somewhere none of us can reach you. I'll be —ur r—k, Shir—."

He blinked slowly. "Illya…?" He tried to pop his ears so that sound would not be garbled. That was probably it. He had probably lost track of the change in elevation, the castle was nestled deep in the mountainous foothills far away from town, after all, so that was certainly it, right?

Another static shock. Another ride down a hot plastic slide at the childhood playground. A memory of a past life, shut away by a decade-old disaster, was speared through and discarded on the end of a blade. Now the sensation no longer had a memory that could be tangentially associated with it.

That was for the best. It was the intrusion of memories that had thrown him into this position. Shirou had to fight for his life in the present.

"That's not the reason for it, Shirou," Illya said. Had he spoken aloud and had not realized it? "It's physical, but not physical like that. It's not your ears, it's your head that's all wrong-"

The current sparked through him again once more. A musky scent spread through the cabin. Illya's fingertips were warm, nearly hot with the power she channeled through them. Though his awareness was in and out, he knew what she did for what it was. Each flow of prana that she sent carefully through his body was meant to push back against the power of the arm that intruded upon his mind and body. In another time and place perhaps the magic she sent into him would have been enough for her spells to take hold. What she was up against, though, was a Servant itself, however fragmented its body was. It was a familiar that surpassed any magus of the modern era.

She was the one responsible for how he became like this. She was the culmination of one-thousand years of obsessive, single-minded Einzbern drive, a rushjob of a product that surely wouldn't even live past two decades that still stood head and shoulders above all other Masters in sheer output, sans the friend and foe they were fighting to save. Now that Illya was no longer burdened in any way by her contract with Berserker she was free to call upon as much energy as needed. Surely she could do _something_ to aid Shirou.

She wanted to be able to begin to atone for her misconceptions and mistakes. She wanted to thank him for the times he helped her. First she had to save him. It was pointless for Shirou to die this way. _He_ would not be granted the paradox _he_ sought. Unleashed like this, _his_ arm, Shirou's arm, needed to be put under a semblance of control. It was expected of a big sister to keep her raucous little brother in line.

"Shirou," Illya said in an even, firm tone. She moved in close again. Her hands went down from the sides of his head to his shoulders. "Did you know that in a body that possesses two souls, the stronger will prevails?"

"That…makes sense," Shirou replied. His eyes were glazed over, but followed and reacted to Illya's movements. A step in the right direction.

Illya had to do it somehow, and soon. Now that the dangers of battle had passed, and the guiding light that the sense of urgency that came with it provided gone, there was nothing to stop Shirou from losing himself in thought. His mind was strong, but the lull of the long uneventful trip from the forest to back home dulled minds, and that would be fatal to him in his condition.

"That's you right now," Illya said, "Archer's arm is ready to run wild, and all that's stopping it from doing so here and now is you."

"I won't lose to him. I promised myself that much," Shirou said. Going against Archer fired him up, gave him purpose. That was useful. It was another step in the right direction.

"You're a survivor, Shirou. That's good," Illya said, "But it's getting harder to keep up, isn't it? Every minute longer that you're still yourself is a minor miracle."

Shirou nodded slowly. "If that's what it takes," he said, "then I'll just have to keep doing the impossible for a little while long-"

He stopped talking because he couldn't hear his own voice. If his eyes were glazed over before, they were empty now. His breath came out in ragged gasps. He started to scratch at the dark-skinned parasite latched on to his arm socket.

It seemed to be a universal constant that heroes went out in undignified ways. They were the peak. They personified humanity's greatest and worst aspects. As they embodied triumph and greater purpose so too were they equally linked with unavoidable loss and fatal flaws. To be a hero meant to meet an end wrought by your own hands. So how was this logical? How was this fair? Hadn't he given up the desire to be a hero? Was this because he had chosen to save her, a princess in all but name, with the power of a hero, and in doing so fulfill the world's karmic remuneration for the role he had taken? Was his life just meant to slip away in the backseat of a dingy car?

For Shirou's sake she had tried to remain level-headed. In order to take care of him she had to be calm. To be there for him she had to be supportive.

Now, she was mad.

"You," at her wit's end, she snarled through gritted teeth, "It's unsightly for a young man to throw a tantrum!" Illya held Shirou's head fast and angrily pressed her lips against his. If her treatments before weren't enough then she'd have to pull out all the stops in order for Shirou to function like a human being once more.

Shirou's eyes, once distant, went wide and alert. He coughed like she had given his drowned body CPR. She didn't care if he hacked into her mouth. That was just an opportunity for her to snake her tongue in, to caress his with hers, to exert control over his rebellious body.

"Illya?! What do-o you th-think you're d-doing?" Shirou protested when she finally broke away to catch her breath.

Illya's pants were in stereo with his. Her temper had been appeased but something else had flared up in its place. "It's voracious," she said, "but if I use more power more directly his arm should calm down."

"I s-see. That said, I mean, you know, did you still seriously have to do it like _that?"_ Shirou continued to stammer. He squirmed around a bit. A strap from shoulder to groin belted him down to where he sat, and Illya remained seated on him. He couldn't move much.

It was good that his liveliness was restored more fully for the time being, but did he have to make this so difficult? If she was truly correct about his relationship with Sakura, a magus like him, there was no way he wouldn't know about this. Illya tried her best to not be insulted by his apparent ignorance or his response to her actions, but it was hard. "That's a step the process really could not do without, yes."

"Even so, to just do that out of nowhere to me-"

"Shirou, if you saw what I did you would've done just the same: anything to help." Illya replied, her expression full of stalwart worry and a hint of impatience.

He nodded and then shook his head almost at the same time. He knew her words were sound, yet he still couldn't help but take exception to them. "Like I said, _you_ shouldn't just do something like that."

"I don't agree. My decision wasn't wrong. What's your issue with it, anyway? You're already dedicated to Sakura. It's only a kiss to you. It's not as if it's something you haven't done before."

"That's it, though. I'm not used to this level of intimacy," he confessed. Shirou looked like he had bared his soul for all the world to see. Illya devoted a moment or two to process this. Then the revelation hit home. "Seriously?!" Illya finally gasped, her eyes wide, "Even though you and Sakura are lovers you haven't kissed yet?"

Shirou just shrugged sheepishly and tried to not make eye contact with the girl on his lap. Illya realized it now. He hadn't been angry when she kissed him. He had been embarrassed.

First, she was dumbfounded. Then, she giggled. After, a grin spread across Illya's face and her eyes narrowed dangerously.

"Oh? So you mean to tell me that I took your virgin lips? Even though you have become of one in body time and time again you skipped building the foundation to erect the tower as quickly as possible? How...lascivious."

"I- I, we did that to help her, because I love her. One thing led to another, and, you know-"

"–It slipped through the cracks and not once during those moments heated did she get to feel her beloved's lips against her own? That's beastly, _Onii-chan_."

"Please," Shirou groaned, "Just stop talking about it."

"What do you mean, Shirou? I'm not _experienced_ like you, so I'm afraid I don't quite understand what it is that you mean." Illya said.

"I mean that I don't want you talking about my love life!" Shirou snapped.

"Is that so? How I wonder why that would bother you?" Illya mock-asked. She intended to milk this for as long as possible. Or until her attention span wandered elsewhere, "There're no ears here who would deviously exploit such details."

Illya looked over her shoulder, to the man at the wheel. He remained dead silent throughout the exchange. If not for his periodic motions needed to steer the car he could have passed for a disturbingly realistic mannequin.

Illya's teasing went on. "Are you worried about our driver? What ever would he do? He's not driving us back to town out of the goodness in his heart. He's under a spell." _'Take us to Fuyuki City. Stay focused on the road.'_ Those were her words. That was what she had said to him, backed by the magic of suggestion to disregard suspicion. "One of us could scream bloody murder back here and he wouldn't be moved."

"Why would any of us be scream- oh please stop. I beg you."

Illya carefully considered the logistics of Shirou's plea for mercy. She was confident that she could continue to tease him for longer. On the other hand this little distraction was just that – a distraction, an oasis stumbled upon in the middle of a desert waste while on a treacherous journey. He still needed to be attended to.

Illya decided that she could get a little more out of him. She was greedy by nature, and fancied one more small treat before the hard work had to begin in earnest.

"I think I understand now, Shirou. I'm quite foolish to have not realized it before when the answer was in front of me the whole time, especially when it's a very part of your nature. You're not an intellectual who's up for discourse. You're an instinctual who does it before he can even spare a thought."

"I'm sorry that having sex as it happens and talking about it outside of that are two different things."

"If that's indeed the case for you, then you shouldn't have any problems," she replied.

Shirou titled his head, innocently wary. Illya thought it reminded her of a puppy. "Pardon?"

"Why you helped Sakura and the way you did it; why I want to help you and the way I must do it," Illya elaborated, "Shirou, your reasons are my reasons."

The dawn finally broke within the dimness of Shirou's mind. "Are you- you're serious."

Illya moved around on his lap once more. "I am." Illya said. She didn't do this only the one time, to shift her weight. She actively pressed down onto him. She went back and forth. Back and forth. Back and forth. With her arms draped over his shoulders Illya drew herself close to Shirou, close enough that she could kiss him again if she chose to. The warmth of his breath on her face and the sound of fabric on fabric egged her on.

Even through the denim of his jeans Shirou acutely felt the sensuality of Illya's hips. The stiff material of the pants became even stiffer as he put pressure of his own against it. Yet, still… "Even with my life on the line," he admitted, "I'm not sure I'm up for this."

"Do you want to die, Shirou?" Illya huskily whispered to him as her forehead touched to his, "Die having achieved nothing?"

Where there had only been front-and-back there was now side-to-side. Her grinding was incessant. Needful. Shirou already began to feel himself leak. With teeth clenched, his brow furrowed as conflicting thoughts toiled within.

"If it's easier for you, you can pretend that I'm Sakura."

This time Shirou didn't hesitate to decisively respond.

"That's not right," he said. "You're not 'nothing.' "

To reject Illya meant to reject Sakura.

"Even if I've got a long ways to go until the end a victory is a victory, so give yourself more credit. It's not like you to not want to steal the show."

To choose Sakura meant to choose Illya.

"So why would I pretend you're someone you're not?"

After all, when he saw her for the first time at the turning of the month, hadn't she taken his breath away?

"You're Illya, and that's who you'll always be."

Still, it was hard. For all their similarities, Sakura and Illya were as different as could be. Their personalities. The circumstances under which he met them. The relationships he had with them, or rather, thought he had with them. The obvious physical differences. He couldn't possibly love one the same way he loved the other.

That was fine. No one had asked him to do so. He had given up the ideal of loving others equally what felt like a whole lifetime ago. Among other things this was to help Illya help him help Sakura. That was why this wasn't a betrayal of Sakura's loyalty. That was why he could do this.

"Then does this mean that-?" Illya let her question hang in the air.

"Yeah. I'll accept you." he responded. He took a breath and sat up straight.

"Shirou," she replied, "Sometimes you say the right things." Illya hugged him tightly, an image of serene innocence up above even as she continued to rub herself against his hardened dick, a picture of desire from below.

Even with thoughts like these in his head, newfound determination, and the blessings of the steadily gyrating girl before him, Shirou was still hesitant. It was precisely because Illya _wasn't_ Sakura that he was back to almost square one. No wild passions had exploded forth here yet, only an achingly slow burn.

 _Don't be shy. There isn't a no touching policy here. Put your hands on her like you've wanted to._

He returned her embrace. Illya cooed happily under her breath at his touch and she moved more insistently in circles. That was a good start.

Shirou blinked. Once. Twice.

That was odd.

 _She likes kissing. Go for more of that._

And so he did. His lips brushed against Illya's and he let her take hold of him. Shirou was unsure of what exactly he should do. Did he break away too often? Not enough? Illya gently nibbled at his jawline – was that something she too would like, that he should perform on her in kind? How hard to bite? From the sound of her moans she liked how his hands moved on her back, the way they softly stroked her fair hair. Where else should he touch next, and how? Down to the small of her back? Up to her smooth neck? Was it really okay when his tongue tickled the back of her mouth, which caused her to wiggle in place so invitingly? But his actions were genuine and he really liked her taste, so that was reason enough for the heat in her to freely grow.

Again, that was odd. It gave Shirou enough pause for Illya to whimper a complaint in response. "Shirou…"

 _Rest assured, she's not a clumsy girl who talks a big game but doesn't know better. She's a woman with an opportunity to put into practice what she knows._

Shirou understood this. That made sense. That she had to wait ten years to exact her revenge against a man she had such a vivid connection with meant that there was no reason to be apprehensive of this situation he was in with Illya whatsoever. He trusted that he was in good hands.

Wait.

"Archer?" he almost asked out loud. If he wasn't so busy embracing Illya he would've rubbed his eyes in confusion. The arm imparted knowledge to him before, but the vestige of Servant Archer's persona hadn't been so vivid since it had been ready to shatter his consciousness to pieces upon the removal of Kotomine's Shroud. This experience wasn't on the level of an encounter in his mind's eye against the thoughtform of his nemesis.

This was almost like possession.

Would he have to fight against death again, even as the young woman before him tried to save his life?

 _If you thoughtlessly hurt her during this I'll do my best to turn your brain into an inside-out pincushion, but that's a what-if. I'll be there waiting when you have to cross that bridge._

'Seriously?' Shirou thought, part annoyed, part astounded, 'Didn't I say that you'd have to be the one to keep up with me?'

 _Fighting and fornicating are two different things, boy. Two different things that happen to be similar in nature, depending on how one sees them and the context in which they happen. Can you deny that you battered your girlfriend's walls so that you could storm her fortress? What of this? Isn't this a delicate operation in unfamiliar territory where your intel won't necessarily be of use?_

'I forgot how much I hate you.'

 _That's well and good. You still need me more than you don't. I'll assist you in this as long as her best interests remain at heart_.

'Why do you care?'

 _You remember how I told you back in the forest that she gets tired easily?_

'I do.'

 _Want to know how I found that out?_

'SHUT UP,' Shirou internally snarled so strongly that some of it came out his flesh and blood throat, though it came out as more of a love-grunt to Illya's ears, so she was hardly bothered by the sharp sound, 'Wait,' a thought came to Shirou, 'Does that technically make this a three-way?'

 _If that'll get you in the mood, I won't judge too harshly._

'Figures your left hand would be the one with these kinds of thoughts.'

 _It's yours now, loverboy._

Illya, in contrast, was oblivious to this heated exchange. When she removed herself from Shirou's lap for a moment it was his turn for his body to silently complain. The sudden lack of contact between him and her was almost painful.

It was when she reached up her skirt and slid a delicately laced pair of white and violet-dyed panties down her legs that he remembered that he was in good hands. Illya let it fall. He was pained again but for a completely different reason than before.

Illya undid her cravat next as she stepped towards Shirou. The clasps of her blouse followed, and with that fell back to reveal her soft skin and a bra that matched the pair of panties cast aside on the car's floor.

Never before had Shirou thought the notion of a single piece of clothing discarded on the floor to be such a turn-on.

She went to her knees in front of the seated Shirou. She smiled at him before she went to work, and Shirou's heart skipped several beats at that gesture. Illya unfastened the button and zipper, and with a steady tug freed Shirou from his boxers and jeans. He stood alert, twitching from the refreshing chill, his head glistening from smeared-on pre-come.

Illya reached out and gently took him in her hands. As she slowly ran her fingers up and down his length as if to test the waters she carefully eyed it with a doting expression. She planted a small kiss at the very end. The tip of her lithe pink tongue that she worked her way into his moist urethra made him shake where he sat. "It's a good size, Shirou," Illya told him, her tone honeyed with warmth and hunger.

 _She says you're small._

'Laugh it up, Palmolive. That's yours by extension.' Shirou mentally retorted.

"What was that, Shirou?" Illya asked.

"Nothing. Thank you." He responded. Going up against Archer really did fire him up. He'd try to keep that in check.

After what felt like far too soon Illya let go and proceeded to leave her skirt behind to once more straddle the young man. She rubbed against him, bareback. Without the barrier of clothing to dull the pleasure for either of them it produced a wholly different feeling from before. Against her flushed lips, against his swollen knob, the friction shared between wet skin - everything felt so much more sensitive, responsive.

She lifted Shirou's shirt up so that she could run her hand over his body. From the dips on his abdomen to his prominent pectorals Illya wanted to feel the solid reliability of his toned, attractive muscles. Leaning in close, she drew a line with her tongue from the center of his chest to just below his chin.

"Illya," he groaned, unable and unwilling to continue to hold back as the pleasure built up.

"Shirou," she replied as well, for the same reasons, "It's time." She could have gone all the way to the climax like this, but Illya hadn't forgotten why exactly this turn of events came to pass.

The encroachment of the world of swords upon his self could not be stopped. It could only be bolstered against in a frail countermeasure, doomed to fade with time before one knew it.

The nature of such actions was suitable for her. But if that was to be her lot then that was fine. Illya would have been a liar if she told herself she wasn't looking forward to completing the process, however ultimately temporary though the results may be.

She scooted back on Shirou's lap. Illya once more grabbed hold of him and angled it towards herself. "As you have lost a sort of virginity to me," she reassuringly spoke, "it's fair that I lose something to you as well."

With a quiet gasp and a flash of a wince Illya carefully descended on him. A trickle of blood went down the length of his shaft. Illya didn't linger on it and began to move further down. Her slit widened the more of him she took. Her loss was the only moment where she displayed any sort of discomfort. She was too turned on to be hurt by her first time, too close to the edge.

Shirou let out a hapless gasp of his own when she mounted him. His hands moved to her slim waist. A new sound was heard in the SUV's cabin as Shirou helped Illya move her petite frame up and down. It was a sentiment appreciated by both.

 _Devote yourself to her breasts while you're like this and she'll just melt away._

'I'm not doing this for you,' he mentally groused at it, annoyed that he wasn't allowed to enjoy this uninterrupted. Shirou still did as ordered. When a rhythm of their bodies had been achieved he pulled her bra up and like she had done to him before brought his tongue to her chest. Her skin, white like alabaster, a color which should seem cool burned under his touch. With his hand he pressed and played with her slight, firm mounds.

"Shirou-!" she moaned.

Even as she continued to ride him he traced circles on her hot skin. Even as he continued to thrust up into her narrow, slick folds he suckled her stiff nipples. Even as they continued to make love, as their voices rose in volume, as the bewitched driver dutifully continued to work the wheel Shirou truly did devote himself to Illya's body.

"Shiiirooou-!" she drawled out, the moan louder than before. Her hips jerked and provided additional variety to their session.

The arm may have been irritating at best, but its advice was spot on.

Illya's body was suddenly covered in blood. Her arms, her torso, her belly, hips, legs, calves, her face. The blood continued to spill until it coalesced into distinctly patterned markings. These were her magic circuits, her Command Spells, a very part of her as much as any other organ. All over her body the seals glowed like luminescent tattoos. Geometrical in a raw way, it made her look primal, look powerful. At that moment Illya looked more like an untamed being of nature than a prim little noble.

Shirou was in awe of those exotic markings somehow appropriate for an exotic girl.

Suddenly, Illya grabbed him by the head and pulled herself to him for a deep, deep kiss. She breathily growled and laughed from the feel of his mouth against hers. Was the kiss full of pent-up adoration, or did it instead brim with deep-seated unbridled lust?

Either way, Illya acted on it.

The accumulated stimulation of everything was too much for Shirou to hold back against anymore. As he released he called out to Illya as if her name was the only word he knew how to say. His reaction triggered her response. Illya wordlessly wailed in ecstasy in reply. Her head went back, she _shook_. Her nails dug into Shirou's shoulders as her grip suddenly became tight. Her seals flared brightly, and the car was awash with the color of the light. Her orgasm poured forth from deep within and struck Shirou in the very core of his existence with the sheer energies that rode in on the wave.

It was intense. Overwhelming. Like nothing he had experienced before. So much had been forced into him at once. He felt like it could easily wash away everything he had if he let it.

The ritual was complete.

"Sorry, Shirou. That was my first infusion so I may have overdone it some." Her chest dramatically rising and falling, a quite out of breath Illya apologized to an even more exhausted Shirou with an expression hazy with afterglow.

The arm was silent.

Even as the climax of the Holy Grail War loomed ominously in the near future, the boy and girl could at least quietly take a small reprieve in this natural interlude as if all of their problems didn't exist.

Some time later, after a total travel time of an hour on the road, the vehicle arrived at its destination of a stop only a short distance away from the Emiya residence. They walked on the street together, side by side, as the two of them approached the building's doors.

At least, that was what Illya had thought. She felt his presence elsewhere, and when she turned around to look for him she noticed that Shirou had fallen behind. He aimlessly stood in the middle of the sidewalk, staring off somewhere far away.

"Shirou?"

"How did we get here again?" Shirou asked no one in particular. After a moment of soul-searching he shook his head, noticed his friend before him and said in a self-deprecating tone "Oh, right, car. Sorry, looks like I fell asleep on the ride here." He scratched at the elbow of his left arm only once.

At that, Illya only softly smiled, took his hand, and led him back home.

 **.**

 **\- ] | [ -**

 **.**

 _Illya._

 _Illya, what are you doing?_

 _Come now, Illya, you're better than this._

 _Stop it already, Illya. If he can't make it through this on his own then so be it._

 _Please, Illya, it's like I'm being seduced by my past self. I don't want this._

 _Why, Illya?_

 _Illya._

 _ILLYA._

Out of the two separate fragments of Archer's soul, one of them clearly ended up with the comparatively raw deal.

 **.**

 **\- ] | [ -**

 **.**

Nothing and everything were one and the same here in the place where all of eternity was compressed into a single, everlasting meta-moment. Here, knowledge drifted through the ether as much as air was a present constant in the "real world," the world shaped by the presence of living observers. After a near infinite amount of eons, when all of the universes would crumble away, drained of the heat of life, here was the very last place that would wink out of existence without even a God to maintain the record-keeping.

Eddies composed of concept. Auroras shimmering with a proof of existence base. Swirls of constellations whose stars were every thought and truth and secret ever conceived or created.

There was no need for pettily human notions such as form here. Everything endlessly roiled within here, a stagnant, pulsating, perfect void of reliable peace and chaos-fueled uncertainty.

Even so, the whole of the Root lay before what would have been considered by reasonable thought the form of the girl who was the Third Magician of humanity's True Magics. How long she let herself drift on the tides of stilled time, looking with eyes she did not need anymore now that she was here in the treasure box that all seekers of knowledge strove for, that limited her capacity to reap her rewards for having made it here, was unknown and irrelevant.

In this place where time literally had no meaning whatsoever she devoted personal time to herself.

"What do you think of it?"

–Herself and one other.

"I would say it's both hardly worth the trouble and that it's far more beautiful than I ever imagined. Assuming 'beauty' is a quality applicable to a place like this, I suppose. It might be too human of a concept to actually attribute to here. Since I've only lived life as a human and can only perceive anything through that lens, I might have to bite the bullet and at the expense of deeper contemplation go with the most selfish option because it's the most comfortable one."

"Selfishness does have its moments," she sagely replied.

What was the one constant in this place? The hard fact that the girl who came here was not alone. Befitting of animus and anima, there was a male to accompany her female; a darkness to her light; the fire to her water; the death to her life; Kebeb/Izanagi/Brahma/Apollo/Ouranos/Adam to her Neuth/Izanami/Saraswati/Artemis/Gaia/Eve.

As a former vessel meant to be filled, she had carried only one soul throughout the duration of her function. His was meant to be ground down and harvested for the means to reach this place. For him – _fuel_ – to be able to see this place was nothing short of a true miracle.

"There's truth in those words of yours. Even though my interest in it is purely out of curiosity at best I can see why every magus worth their salt seeks this place. If I were to be selfish again, I'd say that this feels like the greatest library ever coupled with the alien hominess of the inside of a womb."

It was quiet. There was only a man and a girl selfishly imposing their human ideals in a place as divorced from un-abstractness as possible and enjoying the company of the other here. This shared pause was a pregnant one. It felt as if anything could happen in the space of the void if the silence were broken.

"That last Christmas we shared together," she said, out of the blue, "I'm glad that I now can properly thank you for that."

In this place where movement had no meaning he froze.

"I'm sorry that you had to see your precious angel become an actual one.

"You've been hard at work for humanity, you know. I think ten million years is long enough for a service of duty, don't you think so too, Shirou?"

That inflection. That memory. The form of his body became weak-kneed. The young lady before him was no longer just the Illyasviel von Einzbern of the previously experienced Fifth Holy Grail War. She was _his_ Illya.

"There's no need to worry anymore - as long as I'm by your side you won't have to work another day in your life."

She turned to regard him with warm eyes and a smile which he could say with certainty outshined the wonder of this realm.

For the first time in a proper eternity, the hero cried. His woman let him weep into her shoulder for as long as he needed to.

In this place where knowledge means everything she sought out and took it for her own. The completed Third and the perks that it entailed. Memories of another self. Her affairs in the life she left behind back in order, to give a future to the others that shined brilliantly.

Selfishness does have its moments, and Illyasviel von Einzbern was certainly greedy by nature.


End file.
